


not warriors

by orphan_account



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Near Death Experience, gunshot wound, hartwin if u squiiiiiint, it gets emo! you're welcome, mostly eggsy just almost dies, writing eggsy's internal monologue is a fucking joy and a privilege
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-05
Updated: 2019-09-05
Packaged: 2020-10-10 05:57:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20523077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: there’s always a moment when his feet hit the ground where he worries. it’s never about himself. mostly he thinks of daisy, or his mum, or fucking JB at home waiting for him. the split second of “i have to make it out of this alive” crosses his mind every time, but it’s a split second, and he’s on the hunt.that split second comes back around for more than a split second when he gets shot and cornered by a mafia grunt.





	not warriors

**Author's Note:**

> i don't proofread my fics and i'm not sorry

eggsy loves his job, to put it bluntly. he lives for the visceral thrill of a mission, the implicit life or death matter in each case file, the physically and mentally damanding nature of each objective that sets his normally three hundred track mind onto one automated path that simply rockets into the atmosphere. and he’s damn good at his job, too- he knows it, but the number of times he’s been _ told _ it doesn’t exactly hurt. 

there’s always a moment when his feet hit the ground- cape town this time, and it’s fucking beautiful, he wishes he had time to take pictures and flaunt his luck to harry, who he knows is decidedly “not entirely fond of” his new entirely desk ridden job, which is harry-speak for “fucking hates it”- where he worries. it’s never about himself. mostly he thinks of daisy, or his mum, or fucking JB at home waiting for him. the split second of “i have to make it out of this alive” crosses his mind every time, but it’s a split second, and he’s on the hunt. 

that split second comes back around for more than a split second when he gets shot and cornered by a mafia grunt. 

sure, it’s happened before. (well, not really- bespoke bulletproof material has its benefits, but really only when you’re wearing it, and if that shit gets stolen, or _ lit on fire _ , you’re a bit fucked.) he’s been shot more places than he hasn’t been over the years. but here there’s one burly, drug dealing brute pinning him to the ground- a snarky, “ _ jesus _, mate, watch the shoulder,” gets him a uppercut to the chin- and another rounding the corner and shouting for backup, and shit, they really should’ve waited for bors or lancelot to come with him, huh?

“he’s got a weak spot on his right,” merlin interrupts. eggsy’s left arm rattles forward- _ ow, ow, ow, that’s his _ bad _ shoulder, merlin- _ and he manages to wrestle the grunt off of his front, kicking him to the side and scrambling for his gun. “do you have the sample?”

eggsy pats his back pocket, feeling for the small vial of infected cocaine he’d snagged earlier that day. “yeah,” he wheezes.

“good. now get the fuck out of there, galahad.”

“could use some help with that,” he spits as he stumbles down the alleyway they’d cornered him in. one bullet takes down his attacker, the other his equally dangerous friend, and well, he’s fresh out of bullets then. does he have time to reload? a glance to his right says a solid maybe.

“keep west,” merlin instructs. eggsy breaks into a choppy sprint, right hand flying to apply pressure to his definitely profusely bleeding shoulder with a pronoucned hiss in pain. “gawain’s waiting in 200 yards.”

“thank fuck,” eggsy exhales. 

he manages to make it to the helicopter in vaguely one piece, and gawain, currently his knight in shining pinstripes, fires a round at the the remaining goons before they’re off. gawain gives eggsy a once over, making a displeased noise. “how you holding up, galahad?”

“alright,” eggsy says, and drops into the nearest seat with a yelp. he actually feels pretty dizzy, a bit like he’s about to vomit all over his nice- kind of ruined now, but he’s personally seen worse- suit pants. the wound in his shoulder has stained the left majority of his once crisp white dress shirt a dark red, and eggsy absently thinks you aren’t supposed to lose this much blood from a gunshot wound, are you?

gawain correctly looks thoroughly unconvinced. “merlin, can you read him?”

“rapid pulse and respirations, he’s lost a bit of blood. galahad, give me a view of the wound?” blinking slowly, eggsy removes his glasses and points them at his bloody shoulder. “move your shirt out of the way, will you?” it takes him a second, every movement feels like he’s swimming in molasses, but he manages loosen his tie and pop open enough buttons to slide the ruined shirt off his shoulder. merlin’s silent for a moment. “the bullet sliced your left subclavian artery. gawain, i need you to stop the bleeding _ now _.”

“s’that bad?” eggsy slurs. he watches through blurry eyes as gawain hit a button on the control pad and reach into the glove compartment for a tourniquet, immediately maneuvering eggsy’s arm to wrap it around the wound tightly.

“you ruptured an artery, eggsy. it’s certainly not _ good _.”

eggsy swears he can hear merlin say more, but the world becomes steadily fuzzier as the pain blossoms through his chest. he wonders how close that artery is to his heart. he wonders if his last paycheck will tide over his mum and daisy if he dies right here. 

he wonders if harry will be disappointed in him if he dies now, and he passes the fuck out.

~

the first thing eggsy does upon waking up is rolls onto his side, grabs the trash can beside the standard issue kingsman medical cot, and vomits into it. 

“i feel like shit,” he grits out. morgana just nods and writes something down.

“you lost nearly a litre of blood,” she informs him casually. eggsy collapses onto his back with a pained wince. “we were able to extract the bullet and sew up the artery, but i’d expect a fair amount of pain for the next month or so. we’re putting you on antibiotics for two weeks, and painkillers as you need them. no, galahad, you will _ not _ be put on another field mission until you are fully healed, and that will take quite some time.”

eggsy zones out a bit during the rest of morgana’s talk, eyes unfocused on the aftercare handout she leaves him with, knowing full well everything she tells him goes in one ear and out the other, as hard as he tries to remember it all. he shoves his pillow further up the bed to prop up his shoulder, grimacing with the effort, and tries to fall asleep.

the door swings open with a loud thud, and in walks harry hart. 

immediately eggsy drops the handout and sits up a little straighter, wide eyes fixed on harry. the truth is, harry looks about as well as eggsy feels. it’s not in his suit, or his hair, or even the prim way he seems to hold himself by default. the dark circles under his eyes are telling, and even moreso is the grim downturn at the corners of his lips, the fists clenched at his sides, _ screaming _ tense. 

“hey,” eggsy greets him eloquently. 

harry gives him a pained grimace that does not at all resemble a smile, but there’s an odd fondness lost somewhere in the look that somehow hurts worse than seeing harry upset. “it’s very good to see you’re healing nicely, galahad.”

“mate, i’m off duty.”

“and i am not.”

eggsy sticks his tongue out defiantly. harry rolls his eyes, but crosses the room and maneuvers the chair beside eggsy’s cot to face him and sits down. “we were all quite worried to see you in such a state,” harry tells him cautiously. “to be frank, morgana wasn’t sure you’d make it.”

“oi, it ain’t gonna be that easy to get rid of me,” eggsy tries with a tiny smile. 

harry’s forced polite smile turns razor thin, and it dawns on eggsy. 

“when you say you were all worried,” eggsy asks, “do you mean kingsman or you?” 

the curtains draw firmly shut then, and eggsy can’t get a glimpse at exactly what is going through harry hart’s mind as he formulates a response. the emotion drains thoroughly from his face, though, and that’s enough to confirm eggsy’s suspicions. 

“m’alright, though,” he murmurs. “i made it. i’m right here.”

eggsy leans forward, sitting up a little in his cot, and immediately harry moves out of his chair to sit on the edge of it. “your shoulder-”

“it’s fine,” eggsy interrupts. “s’posed to keep it elevated anyway, morgana said.”

“eggsy, don’t strain yourself.”

eggsy smiles a little. “i’m _ fine _,” he insists. 

he’s probably not fine, he thinks, given how much blood he lost and the fact that it almost killed him. it also doesn’t seem to calm harry down very much, still wide eyed enough to give eggsy a glimpse at what he’s thinking. eggsy grasps one of harry’s hands in both of his and squeezes tight, ignoring the pinch in his shoulder from the effort. “listen, you know as good as me that watching somebody you care about getting shot or dying ain’t easy, yeah?” harry flinches at that, but eggsy pushes on. “but i made it, right? i’m living and breathing, so are you.”

“i didn’t nearly die,” harry corrects. 

“yeah, but _ i _ didn’t know that.” harry’s mouth snaps shut, lips pressed firmly together and jaw clenched. “what i’m saying is, shit sucks, but we’re alright.” eggsy pauses, laughing a little to himself. “‘sides, thought you’d be pretty disappointed in me if i died on you that easy.”

it seems to be the final straw that broke the secret agent’s back, because two warm, calloused hands are suddenly gripping the sides of eggsy’s face tightly, forcing him to look harry hart in the eyes. “i don’t want you to think for a _ second _ that i am not entirely proud of you and all that you’ve done,” harry demands. “even in the event you… could not make it out of a mission. you have served kingsman so well. eggsy, you saved the _ fucking world _.” eggsy laughs a little at that. “i’m being deadly serious.”

“i know,” eggsy assures him. he lifts his hands to cover harry’s, and slowly harry lets him go, settling to hold eggsy’s hands and interlock their fingers in eggsy’s lap. eggsy studies their hands as he continues. “i did think about it, though. on the ride home, before i passed out. kinda think about it a lot, really.”

harry’s grip tightens imperceptibly. “that you’d disappointed me?”

“that i don’t _ want _ to,” eggsy amends. 

“you haven’t,” harry promises. “you don’t.”

eggsy looks up into his eyes and, strangely, believes him.


End file.
